


From Lethe to Mnemosyne

by Istadris



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Drowning, Gen, Implied Nanu/Giovanni, Tohjo Falls aftermath, implied Giovanni/Nanu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 03:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16400885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Istadris/pseuds/Istadris
Summary: What happened after the Falls. The ones from power, from revival, and into the river.





	From Lethe to Mnemosyne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isamajor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isamajor/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Marée montante](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14958233) by [Isamajor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isamajor/pseuds/Isamajor). 



> Many thanks to my CatloversShipping partner in crime Isamajor, may we never get tired of these two awful cats <3

The first time he wakes up, it _burns_.

He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe _he can’t breathe breathe he needs air let him breathe let him breat-_

He hacks, he coughs, he desperately gasps even though his throat burns with each gulp of air, his head _hurts_ , it hurts so much, even worse when the water inside his lungs make him retch until he vomits it, and it doesn’t stop, even when there’s nothing left but acidic bile he can barely spit out.

When the darkness swallow him once again, he greets it with relief.

**

The second time he wakes up to see blood.

Two pools of bright red blood that drip, drip, drip from above him, a red smirk looking down on him, or is it eyes? Does it matter? It’s still there and it’s all he can focus on, that looming threat above him as he’s shaking more and more, his head on the verge of exploding, the blood coming closer and closer, filling his whole vision until he’s drowning, _he’s drowning again and can’t breathe and it hurts and it hurts…_

And yet he’s terrified as he slips once again into the darkness and all color disappears.

_Don’t leave me!!_

**

There is thunder rumbling all around him and someone is shredding his face, his cheek burning with each passage of a rough, wet, warm grating thing.

He’s too tired to care.

He’s cold.

Everything hurts.

He only wants to sleep and never wake up, stay in the soothing, mindless dark.

The thunder keeps rumbling endlessly but it’s warm, even as his skin feels scraped away in a cycle that goes on and on and on….

**

It takes until the fourth time to realize something: thunder doesn’t go for so long without lighting.

It still hurts everywhere, from his contused, aching, shivering body to his pounding temples, and he doesn’t dare to swallow when he feels the rest of rancid water and bile clinging to the wall of his mouth and throat.

With how much his head is pounding, he doesn’t dare to open his eyes and risk even more pain.

Instead he relies on what he can feel and touch, and the first thing he notices is the warm, furry, _living_ thing right against him, slightly vibrating in rhythm with the rumbling of thunder.

Not thunder, he belatedly realizes. A purr.

It intensifies when he manages to move his hand, although it shakes as much as the rest of his body, and something presses and rubs roughly against it, the large creature pressing closer.

A gesture as familiar as breathing comes to him: his hand curls and pushes back, moving in small, weak circles.

It still hurts, and he’s freezing, but he can’t stop his fingers, even when his movements become sluggish when he falls back into unconsciousness once again.

**

On the fifth time, he finally manages to open his eyes.

A familiar face greets him, but it’s no blood that fills the eyes of his loyal, beloved Gold (the name comes to his mind like a knee-jerk reflex of his brain). It has retracted into two scarlet slits, but none of the cruelty they’re known for. Instead, only concern and affection, emotions he’s always been the only one to witness in his Persian.

He still has no idea where he is or what happened and is aware it will not be pleasant to remember, but as he moves to bury both hands into the soft fur, soaking in every bit of warmth from Gold, he finds out he doesn’t care at all.

He just longs for never being cold again.

**

There is no sixth time.

His whole body shakes from cold. His teeth chatter to the point of making his jaw ache. Each cell of his body feels like they’re still in icy water. He curls more and more against Gold, but he knows the truth; he’ll have to move at some point and find a true source of heat before the cold kills him. Preferably far from here. But where is _here_? And how did he get here?

His memories are hazy, tumbling together in a blend of confusing shapes and sounds, hallucinations mixing with reality in his recollection of events. He’s certain he dreamt the sudden apparition out of nowhere of the two brats in the Tohjo Falls cave, the way he dreamt of the blood pouring from Gold’s eyes but he remembers…he remembers the bitter sentiment of defeat. He lost, he _knows_ it. Again. Three years of training and waiting for a sign, and all for naught.

The bile rises again in his throat.

Maybe he dreamt the children too. They looked like that trainer who ruined his entire life in a couple of months and utterly crushed him. But it was three years ago…was it?

He tries to focus on what he remembers in a feeble effort to forget about the cold, but his brain can’t offer him true, accurate moments; everything is in shambles, days that lasted for months, months fleeing in a couple of days, he knows which Pokemon he fought and then he doesn’t, he remembers scars but they came from nightmare creatures, his shoulder has always hurt but he killed the one responsible for it but he came back to life but he choked him but they fucked but they killed together and now he’s the one dying because he

Took

One

Step

A cold terror weights in his stomach and the bile rises. The memory is blurred, just out of his reach. He doesn’t dare, he doesn’t _want_ to remember because even if it’s still incomplete, his gut feeling makes him recoil. If he focuses on it he will feel again that moment where he was in front of the void-

_(The emptiness)_

His head aches more and more as a sound rises from his throat –

_(The rumble of the misty falls)_

A strangled moan, shaking and garbling from the rancid -

_(The void was calling him)_

He crawls on the ground with a worried Gold besides him-

_(If he took one step)_

He has to get away, the water is still there, so close, _too close-_

_(He would)_

Nothing left to vomit when gagging take him again and he only coughs miserably-

_(Fly)_

His heart beats faster, faster faster _fasterfaster_ -

_(Fall)_

It beats too fast too fast too fast to breathe let him take one gasp just one

_(And never stop)_

He can’t breath-

_(And the waters come closer so fast)_

-a sharp pain in his hand makes him yelp and recoil, but despite his efforts to get away, it’s not letting go. Thanks to adrenaline and the sudden shock, he manages to see clear enough and recognize Gold, fangs clamped in his hand. When he tries to push the cat away, Gold only shakes his head and bites harder, forcing him to fight back as survival instinct kicks in and makes him _resist_. He won’t give up, he’s not going down without a fight, he thinks as he manages to grab the Persian’s head, pulling hard, pushing back, and even kicking weakly here and there, using each part of his body to free himself. Still, the fight (if you can call it one) barely goes on for a couple of minutes before Gold releases his bite and jumps out of reach. It still leaves him exhausted and panting while the Persian comes close again and gently licks his hand, purring again.

The rough tongue on the sensitive wound makes him wince. And yet, as he rolls on his side, he breathes deeply for the first time since he first woke up.

He’s still in pain, still exhausted.

But he’s alive.

As if he had earned back his right to live by fighting.

A memory surfaces in his mind, fleeting yet impossible to repress. Another man, bound below him, struggling during a rising tide. The thrilling spectacle of a desperate battle until the very end. The god-like feeling of bringing back this spark, knowing it would come for him next.

Is it _his_ revenge?

He can picture the red eyes and the vicious smirk, looking down on him, pathetic and broken. Sneering.

The thought makes his blood rush in anger, his competitive instinct rising up, his fist clenching despite the pain.

It doesn’t matter how many times he was beaten, he will _not_ stay down. He will _live_ , he will rise again, and he will find _him_ again just to rub it in his smug face.

Getting up has never been so difficult, even with the help of his old friend; it takes many tries, many falls, through the pain of his broken bones, the ache of his muscles, the dry burning of his throat. But he grits his teeth and keeps going, one step at the time.

He has all the time in the world until he can be Giovanni once again.

**Author's Note:**

> Lethe and Mnemosyne: two of the rivers of the Greek Underworld. To go through reincarnation, one had to choose drinking from one river or the other: drinking from Lethe made you forget everything about your past life, drinking from Mnemosyne made you remember everything.
> 
> **
> 
> It's amusing how Giovanni is such a typical, clear-cut villain with apparently little personality, yet there are just enough hints scattered here and there about a more complex character that he can become rather interesting to write.
> 
> There's a couple of references to Isamajor's story "Marée Montante" (Rising Tide), because she has the best headcanons to share about both Nanu and Giovanni and they might as well be canon for me.
> 
> Although I had this fic beta-ed, English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.


End file.
